Another Kind of Wasteland
by Josephus Prime
Summary: Fear turned to outright terror as the nearest survivor crept back, eyes wide in horror. The Ranger couldn't blame them-He must have seemed as terrifying as Death itself, his long duster billowing behind him, his red eyes aglow with merciless intent.
1. Mojave No More

Hey all! Me again, with another crossover! It's difficult to mesh my favorite video game series and one of my favorite mecha animes, but I'm going to give it a shot. Geass is just dark enough to let a Veteran NCR Ranger in, and Fallout? Well, it's a wild, wild wasteland. Who's to say that there's no way the two worlds could collide?

Anyway, as usual, read and review! Tell me if I make this work or not.

Enjoy!

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><p>The pain was the first thing that woke The Ranger up.<p>

The pounding headache, too much like a hangover for The Ranger's comfort, made him wince. His eyes, instead of opening, tightened shut as he reached up and felt his mask.

Intact. Good.

He opened his eyes slowly and blearily, making sure to make slow, steady movements. The Ranger was in an alley of some sort, filled with trash and refuse. The pungent odors of smoke and charred flesh made him look his own body over.

Nope, wasn't him.

His armor was whole, his worn blue jeans a little dusty, and his boots were still freshly shined, albeit scuffed a little from the dirt in the alleyway.

So the stink wasn't him.

Forcing whatever might be causing it to the back of his mind, The Ranger lowered his hand to his lap. His rifle, a brush gun, lay across his lap, and his gloved hands gripped it tight. A weight on his right hip told him his Sequoia was still in one piece as well.

Good.

Finally, The Ranger, remaining still, took inventory of the last few hours.

He'd been woken up at 500 hours. Debriefed on some Enclave secret project at 515 hours. Quick breakfast of bread and cheese at 545. Left Camp Golf at 600 hours. Arrived on-site at 630 hours.

The Ranger stopped counting the hours as he began to recall vividly what had happened next. They'd stormed the Enclave base, losing more men then they should've on the way in. His squad had survived. They had entered a chamber. There was something there, a mark on the far wall across from where he had been standing.

A "V"? No. No, the symbol had lines going up and out from the top of the "V" in the center. Someone had pressed a button. Their eyes had flashed, and they'd spoken to him with a smooth voice. Suddenly, all The Ranger had wanted to do was step into the center of the room. There had been a flash…

And here he was.

The Ranger checked his com channel.

It was filled with chatter, but nothing he recognized.

"_Knights, move forward and quell the rebels! Leave the Glascow to Lord Jeremiah!"_

Okay.

Okay.

The Ranger wasn't in New Vegas anymore. Hell, was he even in America? Who were the Knights? Lord Jeremiah? Sure, they sounded American enough, but no American talked like that, not even before the Great War.

Well, that was just The Ranger's assumption.

"_I'm picking up a thermal signature in an alley_," A voice over the radio said, pulling the Ranger from his reverie, _"Investigating it now!"_ The Ranger's hands tightened on the brush rifle. There was a rumbling to his right, like something big with wheels was rolling his way. He turned the rifle to his right, lying there with his back against the wall of the alley, watching the corner.

A Behemoth came around the corner, stopping to look at him. It was mechanical, massive, and mean-looking, despite the purple color scheme and the strange antler-like protuberances that went backwards out of its head.

It made The Ranger's heart pound.

"_Looks like a dirty Eleven got his filthy hands on some toys!"_ The voice over the com sneered, and the face of the mechanical monstrosity opened. An orange sphere was inside, green waves rolling across the surface, presumably scanning The Ranger.

He reacted with practiced speed. In seconds, the bush rifle was in his hands and he unloaded a round into the dead center of the eye-like scanner within the machine's head. It shattered like glass, sparks of electricity flying from it as the machine's controller gave a yell of annoyance. The face hissed shut and it raised a massive sub machine gun, probably the size of The Ranger's torso.

It opened fire, spewing bullets the size of The Ranger's fist across the alley. Ducking to the side, The Ranger made a low dash towards the machine. It swiveled where it stood, blasting away at where The Ranger had been, but not following his tracks. Had he blinded it? The Ranger hoped so.

His boots carried him around the back of the machine, and a large hump on the back opened up. A man with a headset stood up from within the hump, looking over the head of the machine, pulling a sidearm of some sort from his hip. His eyes widened as he noticed The Ranger had vanished from sight, and turned to look.

Another round of The Ranger's brush rifle took care of him, leaving a blossom of blood to appear on the cement wall behind the pilot. At least, The Ranger assumed from the headset that this was the pilot, and not just a passenger. The machine seemed to stay put, however, as the corpse fell from the other side, hitting the ground with the sickening thud of broken bones and busted brains.

Nothing new to The Ranger. The machine on the other hand…

He clambered up the side, letting his rifle hang along his back. Climbing up into the cockpit, The Ranger took his first look inside the control area of this war machine. It was wide and open, filled with millions of flashing screens and lights. There was a large seat, and the controls seemed apparent to The Ranger, but he doubted that it would be useful. His shot to the scanner seemed to have made the behemoth useless, leaving it nothing more than a towering hunk of intimidating scrap metal.

At least, at first glace.

The Ranger swept his eyes over the interior, the red tint of his goggles making the screens a little harder to read. However, he could still make out some words, and one in particular stood out. It was a button on the screen, blinking lazily at The Ranger, but the words on it gave him pause.

'DISTRESS BEACON'.

Now, The Ranger sat back, planning silently in the seat of the machine. Communications hadn't been knocked out, but if someone was going to come looking for him, pressing that button would make it a damn certainty that they found him. On the other hand, now would be the perfect time to make an escape, if there was one. No doubt someone had been on the other end of that earpiece, and they had probably heard The Ranger's rifle turn the pilot's head into shrapnel.

Decisions, decisions…

After a minute of pause, The Ranger decided it was best to make sure that this was a getaway, leaving no trace of his presence. Sliding out of the seat and back down the side of the machine, he took a lone grenade (it's brethren had long since been used to waste the base they had found), pulled the pin, and tossed it into the cockpit before taking off at a run. The explosion of the machine rocked the street, sending a pillar of smoke and fire skywards. The Ranger didn't stop to admire the sight; He was too busy making his own exit, boots pounding at the broken pavement.

Where The Ranger was seemed to be in the same condition as most of the Post-War places he'd been on tour. Everywhere he looked, there were marks of battle-Buildings in ruin and collapsing, smoke and fire belching from the landscape, and the occasional spatter of red that was followed by the customary civilian corpse.

The Ranger stopped to examine one, however, and it made the gears in his head turn. It was a woman, cradling something in her arms. Large red splotches all over her body marked bullet wounds, and, judging by the grouping they were made by a machine gun.

One that had been aimed at her.

The Ranger looked around before he knelt, creeping up to the body as he rolled her over. In her cold, limp arms was something wrapped in cloth. It stirred, and The Ranger was suddenly reminded of the Legion using children and mothers as weapons, giving them bombs or grenades to do their dirty work for them.

It had made The Ranger more than sick-It had made him certain that he'd make them pay.

Thankfully for The Ranger, however, the squirming mass wasn't a live plasma grenade-It was a baby. It was sleeping silently, peacefully even, which was in sharp contrast to the war-torn world around it. It couldn't have been more than a few months old, and would no doubt die here.

Unless The Ranger did something about it.

He was here, after all. He could help the baby, right? But who would take it? Did this woman have family? What if someone came looking for the infant, and found it gone? What then? He was a NCR Ranger, a veteran even-Kidnapping wasn't something they were known for. Mercy killings, however…Thoughts of Bitter Springs returned to him, massacring women and children at the behest of his C.O., killing the ones sent to auction by the Legion-The Ranger had done this things. What was one more on his conscience?

The Ranger, slipping his revolver out of his hip, and reached out a hand to the baby, who gave a gurgle in its slumber. He froze, and sighed, the noise strange as it rattled out of the gas mask.

No, he decided, today wasn't a day for mercy killings. Wherever this was, it wasn't the Mojave. He was a Ranger, god dammit-Life had value to him.

So, instead, he wrapped the baby once more in the cloth and cocked his Sequoia and stood, duster billowing slowly in the wind as he took off, the baby squirming and gurgling, held close to The Ranger's armor.

Internally, The Ranger wondered if the baby had noticed the change in smell, before reminding himself that the stink of blood, no matter where you go, is the same.

He took off at a faster clip, boots tapping as they moved across the pavement. The Ranger had no idea where to go, but he had to find somewhere to take the child, take care of it. Granted, The Ranger still had no idea where he was, and, therefore, had no idea where the nearest medical facility was, but this was his mission now: Save the baby. Hell, with all the weight he felt on himself just from carrying this infant, it might as well have been save the Mojave.

Finally, as The Ranger passed by an alley, he saw shadows, flitting between buildings, and heard voices. People were ducking into a storefront, one that looked like it hadn't been used in a fairly long time. His breathing was harsh from the running, but he didn't show it. The Ranger had run farther and faster than that before, but didn't want to recall it.

He took a few tentative steps, holstering his revolver as he took hold of the doorknob. Turning it swiftly, he threw it open, and received a charming flashback of the world he'd grown up in that was the Mojave Wasteland.

People, dozens or more, were crowded into this one room. Families huddles together for safety as people with red headbands moved among the crowds, checking on people. The Ranger didn't recognize their language, but he could understand enough of their facial expressions to see familiar things-Pain, fear, uncertainty.

It was like the Wasteland over again.

His entrance, of course, did not go unnoticed. When he threw the door open, all faces turned towards him. Fear turned to outright terror as the nearest crept back, eyes wide in horror. The Ranger couldn't blame them-He must have seemed as terrifying as Death itself, his long duster billowing behind him, his red eyes aglow with merciless intent.

Then a yell came from the right of the room, and The Ranger almost pulled his gun and opened fire. "_Watashi no akachan!"_ The Ranger's red eyes turned. A women, younger than he was, stood up, hope in her eyes as she saw the dark-haired baby in The Rangers arms. A man stood behind her and held her back, his features similar to her. A brother, perhaps. The woman struggled against him, and kept yelling. "_Watashi no akachan!_" She repeated, _"Senaka o atae nasai!_" She clawed the air, trying to reach for him, fear, hope, and love all warring in her dark eyes.

The Ranger got the message. The baby in his arms was hers. The woman he found the infant with must have been a sister-maybe a nanny of some kind. He stepped forward, and people parted before him. The woman stopped her frantic struggling, looking directly at the small bundle in The Ranger's arms. The man whom The Ranger took to be her brother, however, kept his eyes on the threat-The Ranger's guns and armor, and his blood red, glowing eyes.

Stopping just short of her, he handed the baby to the woman. With one swift move, she reached out and took him, tears bursting down her cheeks as she held the baby close to her chest. "_Shou! Shou, sore wa okasandesu!" _She fell to her knees, hiccupping as she cried, the baby gurgling happily. The Ranger felt the weight rise from his back, and felt a certain rush inside him. The man looked at him, eying him up and down.

"_Oba no wa nani?"_ He finally asked, and The Ranger bowed his head. He could feel the man's concern that the baby had come alone. He saw the man freeze and The Ranger brought his hand up to the tip of his helmet, giving the man an idea of what had happened. "_Watashi wa kon sansho shite kudasai," _He finally said, though his voice sounded broken, pained, _"Imoto wa sonogo, shinde iru…"_

At these words, the woman finally looked up from the baby, standing as the baby began to cry a little. They took each other in their arms, holding each other close in the loving way a family can when they need to comfort and console each other. It was a beautiful and humbling sight for The Ranger, and, he decided, it was his cue to leave.

He turned on his heel, coat billowing behind him as he made his way for the exit. His mind was filled with what he just saw, and he almost didn't hear a voice call out to him. _"Arigato."_ The voice made The Ranger pause as he turned around, and saw a lone girl standing in the midst of the crowd. Her hair was wild and upturned, a strange shade of red, but she was looking at him as if he was both a friend and a fiend. Finally, she spoke again. "_Mishiranu hito ni,_" She said, nodding to him, _"Arigato."_

The Ranger did nothing for a few moments, uncertain of what to do. She seemed to be thanking him for returning the baby to his family. For some reason, it seemed strange or miraculous to the people there. The family had sat down again amongst a small crowd, petting and cuddling the baby, people trading whispers and looks at the darkly garbed stranger who had reunited a family.

Before The Ranger could do anything, however, there was a massive explosion. The crash came suddenly, a nearby wall bursting inwards. Ducking to avoid sharps of rock, The Ranger pulled his Sequoia from its holster, but never took a shot.

From amongst the rubble emerged some sort of siege machine, flanked by men in uniforms. They all wore some sort of dark armor, much different from The Rangers. His was scuffed and old, but well fitted. Theirs was tight, polished, and, save for more than a few blood stains, seemed almost primitive.

Those who were armed in the building had their guns trained on the soldiers. It was a stalemate in only a strategic sense; judging from the commotion, the soldiers would easily slaughter the group, and the machine would probably decimate whatever was left of the building. The Ranger felt a few eyes on him, but ignored them as a man emerged from the machine and spoke. "So," he said in a voice that purveyed contempt and little else, "This is where you Eleven vermin scurried off to."

Finally, someone who spoke English. The Ranger, finally relinquishing his silence, stepped in between the red haired teen and the men in the tank. "You need to learn to count, friend," He spoke gruffly, revolver trained on the commanding officer, "Unless that's not something they teach soldiers anymore."

There was an audible shock from the assembly. The soldiers seemed stunned stupid at the sight of this duster-garbed man with a revolver trained on their superior, and the refugees (The Ranger assumed that's what they were at this point) where more than overwhelmed at the sight of this stranger not only speaking their language, but taking a stand for them. The man in the machine, his mouth all that was visible, gaped. "W-What are you doing? Get out of the way soldier, that's an-"

The click of The Ranger's revolver being cocked silenced him. "Not your soldier," The Ranger spat gruffly, "And if you finish that sentence, it'll be your last."

The soldiers turned their guns on The Ranger, but he kept his revolver aimed right at the man in the machine, who sneered. "And you said _I_ can't count! You're outnumbered and outgunned! Stand down or we'll just slaughter you like another Eleven dog."

That term again. It was hardly a connotation of praise, that much was obvious. "Guess I'll have to make my shots count, won't I?" The Ranger said, and began to squeeze the trigger.

"_ATTENTION ALL FORCES! CEASE FIRE AT ONCE!"_ The voice over a speaker system pulled The Ranger from his focus, and jerked the soldiers back to reality. _"I, CLOVIS, THIRD PRINCE OF BRITANNIA AND VICEROY OF AREA ELEVEN HEREBY COMMAND YOU!_" So, Eleven was the name of The Ranger's new location. It was hardly a polite thing, judging by how the soldiers had used it earlier, and numbers weren't often given out as names for nations. _"ALL FORCES ARE ORDRED TO CEASE FIRE AT ONCE! YOU WILL ALSO CEASE DESTRUCTION OF ANY BUILDINGS OR PROPERTY! ALL CASUALITES, WHETHER BRITANNIAN OR ELEVEN-"_

The Ranger let the rest fade away to black as he relaxed his stance. Britannia, Eleven, Viceroy, _Prince_. This wasn't the Mojave. Was it even the world he knew? His world at all?

The soldiers traded looks, and, though their faces were hidden, The Ranger could more than make out the shock. It was nothing compared to his own, but he let that slide and stay hidden. The commander in the machine looked around at the faces of his men, awaiting orders as the man on the speaker, Clovis, finally ceased his orders. He sputtered for a few moments before The Ranger spoke. "You heard him!" He snapped, "Let these people go!" With that, The Ranger lowered his revolver, slipping it into it's holster as he stood straighter. The soldiers just looked at each other before standing aside.

Turned out, wherever you were, people knew to listen to a veteran Ranger.

The commander brought his fist down onto the metal of the tank. "Fine!" He spat, "You heard the prince. Release the Elevens, but I want that man cuffed!" He sneered cruelly, and the soldiers turned.

This time, someone else stepped forward. It was the red-headed teen. Soon enough, the parents from before joined her, forming a wall of people in front of the sputtering tank commander, the visible part of his face turning red in anger. The teen gently pushed The Ranger back, and he caught on, turning off the lights in his goggles. "Go," She said, The Ranger was surprised to hear the accented English, "Go. We'll cover you."

The Ranger nodded and placed a hand on her shoulder. "_Arigato_,"He said, and then, with a turn of his heel, he ducked into the crowd that was surging for the exit.

He emerged into the light of a dying sun, looking up at the sky as he ran from the rear of the building, coat flying behind him. The Ranger didn't know where he was running to, but he knew to keep going, keep running.

Hell, a Courier he once knew had done the same, and he'd survived a shot to the head. Maybe, just maybe, if The Ranger could find that same strength, he could survive in this twisted world.

With this thought in mind, The Ranger ducked into an alley, and the last thing anyone in the street would have seen was a flurry of the duster before he melted into the shadows, vanishing as only the best of the Veteran Rangers can.


	2. Same Danger, Different Day

Chapter twooo~ The key to a good crossover, I've learned, is in introducing a little familiar danger to the poor fellow you sent to another world. Not to mention, it will make an excellent segway to setting the story in motion.

Enjoy!

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><p>It awoke, and it was already hungry.<p>

Curled up in a dark nest it mad constructed for itself out of bones, branches, and pieces of metal, it opened one of it's large eyes, blinking. The only other creatures that could see as well as it could down here were small creatures, far too easy pickings for it to properly hunt (if that's what you could call pursuing prey in these tight conditions), and too small to be a proper meal by themselves.

However, it'd solved that problem.

There were other kinds of prey here: They were two-legged creatures, like the ones that had starved it, beaten it, poured tingling, burning juices on it to make it…smarter? Faster? What had they been meaning to do?

It didn't matter to it. Not anymore.

Its long tongue slid out and licked it's fangs as it raised it's head, it's long tai curled around by it's massive claws. It's long horns gently brushed against the roof of the small cement tunnel that it had called home since it had arrived, and, as it cast it's dark eyes around again, feeling hunger growing in it's belly, it began to do something very, very few, if any, of it's kind did-Ponder.

Where was this new place? Prey was smaller here, though certainly not scarce. There were very few familiar scents in this new place, and, though it had kept to the dark of these tunnels for so long, there had been many new things to see. Creatures that were larger than it in size but had stronger skin and strange movements would appear sometimes on the surface while it was passing by, others with low-slung bodies that didn't need feet, just round…things.

Whe-els.

It blinked, standing, it's hunched, spiny back knocking some of the small bones from yesterday's hunt off of it's back as the muscled, scaly creature stood. Why did it know that? Whe-els. It sounded…strange.

It's stomach reminded it what was important with a sudden growl, and it looked down, a little surprised at the sudden noise. Massive nostrils flared as it examined it's stomach, making certain there was nothing to be concerned of. Finally, when it was confident, it raised it's head and stepped out of it's nest, looking back and forth down the dark tunnels for it's morning feeding.

All the while, the strange thing floated through it's mind. The round shape, the strange feel, the scent, and the word…Whe-els.

How did it know these things? This was on it's mind as it stepped down the tunnels, splayed claws making it easy to navigate in the watery areas as smaller creatures fled before this new towering terror. Normally, it'd be focused on following pheromones, keeping track of what had been where, and seeing if anything good had floated down from the surface into the tunnels that it had occupied for a short while now. Today, however, it's mind wandered to the strange new thing in it's mind.

It wondered for a moment if the strange rock that the straight-backed monsters had placed on it's head was still there, still ordering him around as if it was it's pack leader. Brushing his head against a corner, it felt the rough surface rub across it's scales.

No. No, it was gone. It knew that.

Was it the funny juices? The ones that had both tingled and burned as they were introduced to it's scales? It'd been having strange thoughts since the straight-backed monsters had first given it a sample of the strange sludge. Not only that, strange sounds had begun to appear it's throat when it roared and grunted. They sounded alien to it, but they had some strange importance to it.

Whe-els. It was another one.

As it finally caught the scent of spilled blood, it gave an eager rumble. The stench was strong and powerful, so it knew that whatever was losing blood either had died close by now, or was large and wounded enough to make a substantial stink. It's tail flicked once in happiness as it turned left, and continued a little faster up a slope. It peeked it's head over the slope, and rumbled again.

It wasn't a body. It was a PILE of bodies. Straight-backed monsters where piled there, cut and bloodied. It cocked it's head. Did something else stock it's food? What would? Why this food?

Why did it even care?

Looking around, it stepped up the slope and crouched down among the pile, it's massive claws pushing bodies aside to find some suitable prey. It was beyond elated-It couldn't remember having such a wonderful selection, let alone one that included such fresh kills.

As it scooped up a straight-back in it's claws, it gave it a sniff. There was a funny stink in this one, but it wasn't unfamiliar. Other straight-backs had the same stink when it had found them before in it's home, usually caused by other straight-backs.

Nevertheless, it was still a fitting meal.

Opening it's massive fanged maw, it took off the straight-backs head and neck with one bite, bones crunching as it tossed the food back. As it did this, a new sound floated into its mind, but it didn't give it pause while it was feeding.

Death-claw.

Now what did THAT mean?

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><p>The Ranger's helmet clicked back into place over his mask with a sharp snap, the red eyes lighting up briefly before the light faded and they were nothing more than goggles. His breakfast ration settled in his stomach as he stood, dusting some stray dirt from his pants. Casting his eyes around, The Ranger began to review the events of the last twenty-four hours.<p>

Had it been twenty-four? The Ranger was unsure. His mission clock said it was midnight, but the sun was making headway into the sky from beyond the skyline, lighting his alcove with sunshine. Marking it in his memory, The Ranger decided to set his clock to local time as soon as he could find the time-Otherwise, he'd be stuck running on Mojave time in Eleven.

As soon as that term surfaced in his mind, The Ranger looked around the alley. Good, he was alone. Admittedly, maybe one or two street urchins had peeked into the destroyed building, but The Ranger doubted they had stuck around. These "Elevens", who were they, really? They seemed human enough-No traces of irradiation or mutation, but they were treated in a manner similar to the way organizations like the Enclave or the Legion treated other human beings.

Bile rose in The Ranger's throat at the thought of such inhumane treatment before he forced it down, the sense of disgust not so easy to dispel as he stepped out of the alleyway. His brush rifle was still over his back, and his Sequoia remained still in his holster, brushing lazily against his worn jeans as he made his way down the deserted and ruined road, the pavement cracked and scarred with marks of a fight long over.

At least, that's what it was meant to be.

These "Elevens", they acted as though they were living in submission, but wasn't this their country? Didn't they have rights? Were they refugees from another nation, one that was ruined worse than this one?

Was this wasteland even their home?

Forcing those thoughts to the back of his mind until a later date, The Ranger examined a man running across the street, back hunched as he tried to remain low and out-of-sight. Something was held tightly in his arms, and the look on his face expressed clear distress. This gave The Ranger pause, and he cast his eyes around, the red eyes of his mask glinting in the rising sun. There were no visible sniper positions around here, or any signs of danger. Was this man simply afraid? A criminal? Was he carrying a weapon of some kind? A bomb, perhaps?

The Ranger pulled the brakes on his mind before it ran off with wild ideas. He was still a stranger here, and lacked even the basic knowledge suitable to live in Eleven. Still, The Ranger found himself crossing the street, the cowboy boots hardly making a sound on the pavement as, keeping his hands in his duster pockets, casually walked up to the ruins where the man had vanished.

He wasn't alone. As he leaned against the wrecked cement wall, ducking his head under the cover of the destroyed building, The Ranger could make out locals speaking their tongue in fast, worried tones. There were at least two individuals-Two young men, one of whom The Ranger assumed to be the one who had crossed the street, due to the voice sounding out of breath.

"_Anata ga miataranari baai sore wa,_" The runner was saying, the sound of a newspaper unfurling following his worried tone, "_Futatavi saido no yoru o utta!"_

"_Baka!_" A second voice snapped, his voice harsh and judgemental, "_Anata wa itsu manabu nodarou ka?_" He scoffed, and The Ranger heard the distinct sound of someone taking a dar on a cigarette as he did, "_Sore wa hon'no ichibu no Buritania shinri de wa naku, ikutsu ka no monsutādesu._"

"_Sono baai wa, naze karera wa shinjitsu o kakushite iru?_" The first man said, snapping the newspaper again, "_Anata wa watashi ni iwa sereba watashi-tachi wa Deathclaw no monodearu toshite, Britannians wa onaji yō ni kowaidesu_!"

The Ranger almost felt his heart stop, before he forced his worries to the back of his mind. Deathclaws? Here? Preposterous. Still, he listened a bit more intently, leaning a little closer to the pebbled edge of what remained the wrecked building's doorway, listening to a third voice, this one old and tired, join the conversation.

"_Britannians ga Deathclaw o osorerunara,"_ The elder voice spoke, slowly and coolly as The Ranger heard him exhale,_ "watashi-tachi wa dōyō ni suru no ga kenmeidarou."_

This time, The Ranger was certain his heart stopped. Again, "Deathclaw". Was it possible? Of course, he thought to himself, The Enclave wouldn't have dared to use human subjects-American subjects, pure subjects-Unless they knew whatever they were testing was safe. Deathclaws, to them, were nothing more than big, deadly lab rats. There had been pens lining the corridors on the way to the chamber where The Ranger had seen the "V" mark on the wall, but they had all been empty.

Could the Enclave have had a Deathcalw in one of those pens, and used it as a test for whatever sent him here?

Curiosity trumped caution as he took a step out from the cover, standing straight in the ruined doorway, examining the group before tipping his helmet with a polite, "Howdy".

Reactions to The Ranger always varied from place to place. Among other NCR troops, it had been awe and inspiration. Among outsiders, it had been fear and caution, with a hint of admiration. Among fellow Rangers, pride and approval.

Among these Elevens, however, the reactions ran the whole gamut. There wwere three men in what looked like a burned-out living room, sitting down around the smoldering remains of a campfire from the previous night. The first one, to the Ranger's right, was the runner, and he nearly jumped out of his skin, crawling back against the wall as his wild, trembling hands reached for a large bat next to him. The second, to the Ranger's left, stood, pulling a shotgun from behind him with trained practice, anger overwhelming his eyes.

The third man, however, was old. Very old. His wrinkles and loss of hair, however, didn't make him appear fragile-The thin boned body did that. However, the way his dark eyes watched The Ranger appear, the way his jaw moved slightly against the wooden pipe in his mouth, the way he remained still, kneeling by the ashes of the fire, betrayed one very important fact to The Ranger: This man was old, but not past the point of danger.

Settling on discretion, The Ranger kept his eyes on the elder man for a moment before he looked to the first man, who cringed back as the red eyes turned on him. "Sorry to disturb y'all," The Ranger growled out, his gruff voice, for once, polite and amiable (though it must have still sounded threatening through the mask), "But I thought I heard the term "Deathclaw", come up. Frankly," He said, eyes turning to the man with the shotgun, who had just dared to take a step forward, "I ain't here to fight y'all. Just tryin' to get some information, simple as that."

There was a tense silence as The Ranger waited for a response from anyone. Finally, the gritty voice of the elder man broke the silence. "_Sasuke wa, sandan jū o oku_." He puffed the pipe once, his dark eyes remaining on The Ranger as he looked back to the old man, "_Kare wa watashi-tachi ni kyōi arimasen_."

The shotgun man, Sasuke, turned to blink, wide-eyed, at the old man. "_Chichi, kare wa-"_

"_Kon, Sasuke."_ The old man removed the pipe from his mouth and tilted his head up to get a better look at The Ranger. "I apologize for my sons," he said, his gritty voice accented as he did, "They are distrustful of men who hide their faces. "

"But you ain't?" The Ranger said, a little surprised.

The old man gave a coughing laugh, smoke curling from his nostrils as he took another pull of the pipe. "I remember you, Stranger. You saved an infant boy yesterday, and then stood up to a Britannian tank with nothing but your six-gun."

Sasuke's brother blinked, relaxing as he looked with new eyes at The Ranger. "This-This is him, father?" His voice was broken, belaying shock and wonder. It made The Ranger feel rather like a superhero.

Then he reminded himself of what he'd done in his life, and simply tilted his head in acknowledgement. The old man gave another laugh, a could of smoke drifted from his lips as they turned in a wry grin. "Yes. You, stranger," He said, taking the tip of his pipe out and pointing it at The Ranger, "Are a strange man indeed. Stupid? Brave?" The old man shook his head, locking the tip of the pipe between his yellowed teeth, "I cannot decide."

"Both seem to get the job done, sir," The Ranger said, keeping his eyes on the old man as Sasuke lowered his shotgun, giving The Ranger a once over. "Though I could say the same 'bout y'all coverin' my little escape."

The old man grinned, and The Ranger saw a funny look in his eye. Was it amusement? Respect? The Ranger had long since given up on trying to read people that way, but, every now and then, a look would be cast his way that would pique his curiosity. It would go unheeded, however, as the old man nodded once. "Sit, Stranger."

The Ranger did, placing his brush gun in his lap as he mimicked the cross-legged position of the elder man across from him. The two boys on either side sat straighter, but kept wary eyes on The Ranger, from his black armor to his worn duster. "Thank you kindly," The Ranger said, watching the elder man puff at the pipe again, "As I was sayin', I couldn't help but overhear the word "Deathclaw" come up."

"You know of this monster?" The unnamed brother spoke, but a flashing look from his father silenced him. As the elder's eyes slowly turned back to The Ranger, they gave him a once-over again.

"Do you?"

The Ranger nodded. "Can't say they're the same was yours, sir, but the name does ring a fair share of bells."

The old man's eyes narrowed. "You are Britannian."

The Ranger paused. Was he? Technically, he wasn't-He was from Primm, but, once again, his failure to know the lay of the land seemed to create an impasse for him. "I guess I am, sir."

"Guess?" The old man blinked, surprise surfacing on his wrinkled features, "You do not know where you are from?"

The Ranger gave a shy chuckle before he answered. "Let's just say I'm not from around here," He finally said, "Just passin' through." It wasn't the entire truth, but it was close. It seemed to satisfy the old man, but The Ranger kept noticing the look of curiosity in his eyes.

"Is that right?"

"Yessir."

The old man's eyes narrowed again. "You speak to me," he said, removing his pipe from his lips, his dark eyes growing intense as he looked upon The Ranger, "With respect. Dignity. Why is this?"

The Ranger wasn't sure how to answer. Frankly, he was never comfortable talking about himself, especially when his curiosity about the mention of Deathclaws remained unstated. "Just how I was raised, sir."

The brothers traded looks of surprised, their eyes and head going from their father to the armored Ranger opposite, seeming entranced by this development. "I am an Eleven," The old man growled, placing a hand on his knee and resting his elbow on his other, "Your parents raised you to treat an Eleven with respect? Call him "sir"?"

"Yessir." The Ranger was getting tense and uncomfortable now. He wanted to get to work, find out of this Deathclaw was related at all to the ones he knew, and, if so, how it got here.

He even dared to hope it might have a way out.

The old man looked over The Ranger again, but he didn't seem to be examining his guns or armor-The old man seemed to be looking underneath it all, as if he could see into The Ranger's soul. The Ranger was unsure he wanted the old man to see just what was there, but he let it slide as the old man nodded slowly. "I see," He said, his voice distant as his dark eyes returned to focus on The Ranger's red goggles, "I see." He placed the pipe between his lips again and puffed. "You are a strange man indeed."

"Hopefully," The Ranger said, hoping to get the conversation back on a track where he wasn't the center of attention, "Not strange enough for you to not pass on any info you have 'bout this "Deathclaw"."

The unnamed brother looked from his brother, to his father, to The Ranger, trading looks of surprise with each. "It," he said, his English a fair bit worse than his father's, "It is not unknown among you Britannians, yes? Why do you not ask them?"

The Ranger suddenly shifted his look to the younger brother, who jumped again, falling back a bit before his arms caught the burned floor and stopped him. "I'm askin' you 'bout it," The Ranger said, his voice betraying his growing impatience and uncomfort with this situation, "And I'd take it as a kindness if you'd answer, best you can."

The old man's eyes focused again on The Ranger, and The Ranger found his head turning back to the old man, as if he had commanded him to do so. They narrowed as he watched The Ranger, before he removed the pipe from his lips and spoke. "When an Eleven dies, it is hardly news," The old man began, "But, recently, there have been," He paused, tossing over what word to use before he settled on, "incidents. They are consistent, but lack the usual signs of Britannian violence against Elevens."

"We aren't Elevens," Sasuke growled, his fists clenching, and the eyes of the three other men turned to him as his jaw tightened, "We are Japanese! This is Japan, not Area Eleven! We-"

"_URUSAI!_" The old man snapped, and The Ranger jumped a little at the hostile tone in his voice. Sasuke cast a dark look at his father before he nodded. "Forgive my Sasuke," The old man said as he and The Ranger returned their eyes to each other, "He is proud, but stubborn. He has yet to learn to bide his tongue," The old man growled harshly, turning his dark eyes to Sasuke before they looked back to The Ranger. "Now, where was I?"

"The attacks are similar," The Ranger answered, "But they're beyond the norm. How's that?"

This time, it was the unnamed brother who spoke up. "The stories we hear are of _oni_," He said, fear in his voice, "A great one, hunting people for it's food. It is said that it has powerful, long claws, so we name it "Deathclaw"."

"_Oni_?" The Ranger said, looking to Sasuke and the old man for translation. Granted, the claws certainly made it sound like a Deathclaw, but he needed more to go on, more evidence. It wasn't enough to jump into the sewers with hope of finding a way home if all he would find was a big cat with a nail growth issue.

"Demon," Sasuke answered, "Long horns protrude from it's forehead, like this," His pointed fingers moved up against his forehead, pointing up and outwards.

The Ranger's attention became focused on Sasuke. It was another sign of Deathclaws-their horns. They could do as much damage as they're namesake claws in some situations. "You've seen it?"

Sasuke shook his head, lowering his hands. "No, I haven't. My friend's father, however," He said, lowering his voice as he leaned closer to The Ranger, who did the same, "Saw it once. He's a sewer worker."

"Describe it," The Ranger said, without missing a beat. He was like a hound in hot pursuit of prey, and was just catching the trail.

"It was tall," Sasuke said, using his hands to demonstrate it's features, "walked on two legs, and had a large hunch. Spines ran down it's back, like those of a lizard, but it had a horn upon it's nose."

There was no doubting it now. Word for word, it was a Deathclaw. The Ranger sat back, sighing faintly. The old man raised a graying eyebrow. "You sound relieved, stranger."

The Ranger nodded, an eager thumping in his chest. "Yeah, suppose I do."

Sasuke scowled, his brow furrowing. "Why? Because your filthy _oni_ is doing what you commanded of it?"

Before the old man could silence him again, The Ranger shook his head, raising a gloved hand. "No 'fense meant by it," He said, turning his head to Sasuke as he lowered his hand, "But I know the creature you're talkin' 'bout. It's the first familiar thing I've heard of in the last eight hours." He looked back at Sasuke, who was blinking in a more than bewildered fashion. "You wouldn't happen to remember where your friend's daddy saw this Deathclaw, would you?"

Sasuke blinked dumbly for a minute before pointing to a sewer grate in the street behind The Ranger. "Below, in the sewers. It was going north, towards the Settlement."

While Sasuke seemed stunned at the thought of The Ranger perusing the Deathclaw, The old man's eyes narrowed at the ranger once more he took another puff of the pipe. "What will you do with this knowledge, stranger?"

"Hunt it," The Ranger said simply, picking up his brush rifle and checking the rounds (He had to conserve ammo, no telling if they had similar rounds here), "Get some answers. Don't got a plan yet, but, way I see it, I'll either figure one out along the way or get gutted tryin'."

The old man watched The Ranger for a moment, blinking slowly. "I believe I have decided what you are, stranger."

"Oh?" Said the The Ranger as he stood, slipping the strap of the brush rifle over his chest, "What'ddya figure?"

"You are stupid," The old man said, a small grin tickling the edges of his wrinkled lips, "Very stupid."

The Ranger gave a country chuckle, tipping his helmet. "Much obliged for the help, friends," He said as he turned, his duster whirling as he made his way to the grate, squatting down as he lifted the metal grate aside, placing it on the broken pavement, "Take care of yourselves, now!"

"Good luck, stranger!" The old man called, and The Ranger could've sworn he heard the old man chuckle once more before he jumped into the sewer, his boots landing in the water with a splash as he slid the brush rifle from his shoulder, slipped it into his hands and cocked it before he took off at full speed into the dark of the sewer, the red lights of his mask matching the intensity of the fire burning full blast in his chest.


End file.
